


Well...Shit.

by TheIcyQueen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Crushes, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23120131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheIcyQueen/pseuds/TheIcyQueen
Summary: What are best friends FOR, if not pretending to date you so your mother will get off your back? Luckily for Hawke, she and Varric are pretty good at pretending to be in lo...oh.Oh no.
Relationships: Female Hawke & Varric Tethras, Female Hawke/Varric Tethras
Comments: 36
Kudos: 65





	Well...Shit.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [untouchableface](https://archiveofourown.org/users/untouchableface/gifts).



> Fair warning: With enough peer pressure, I may have to continue this one. So. Please bear that in mind.
> 
> Written as a fill for a prompt on tumblr - interested in sending me prompts? You can find me on tumblr as queenofbaws ;P

There was a lot Hawke was willing to put up with. _A lot_.

Carta assassins? Fine.

Coterie goons? Okay.

Furious Tal-Vashoth? Less than ideal, but sure.

 _Sister Petrice?_ Even then, why not! Nothing that couldn’t be solved by a long, hot bath, a good scrubbing, and a tankard or two (or three) of whatever Corff was slinging at the Hanged Man that night.

But this? This was a step too far. This was more than she could rightly handle. She didn’t have _many_ limits, but she was just one woman, damn it, and _enough was enough!_ She was not going to stand for this.

“I don’t _need_ you to find me a suitor, Mother. In fact, I would much prefer it if you, uh… _didn’t_.”

“Marian…” Leandra began sternly, “How do you expect me to simply sit idly by while my _eldest daughter_ throws away the best days of her life in grungy taverns and places of ill-repute—”

“If you want me to stop visiting dear, sweet uncle Gamlen, that’s all you had to say…” Hawke’s grin was toothy and wide to compensate for all the screaming she was doing on the inside, but alas, Leandra soldiered on as though she hadn’t heard her. “Mother, _please,_ I don’t need to be _courted_.”

“You do! Think of our family line! Would you have it just—”

“I misspoke. What I meant to say was this: No.” She opened her mouth to tack something suitably witty onto the end of it…and then…it occurred to her. The perfect excuse. The perfect out. “If you _must_ know, I’m already spoken for.” Ohoho, she hoped her smirk wasn’t _too_ haughty, but there was something just so perfect about the disbelief her mother was looking at her with, and—

“ _Who?!_ ”

“I, uh…” Well, shit. On second thought, maybe she could’ve thought that one out a little longer. Or at all. “You can’t…tell?” Eugh. That would only buy her a couple of seconds at best.

Leandra stared with open concern, her gaze momentarily going distant as she ran through the ragtag list of Hawke’s companions.

Unbeknownst to her, Hawke was doing the exact same.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say.” She leveled her gaze at her daughter once more, appearing more than just slightly apprehensive.

Hawke tittered a laugh, lips pulling into a frantic grin. “Ah, well…you know me! Always trying to keep my private life private…it’s better that way, you know. Keeps the…spark…alive…” Oh, it was a _battle_ to keep from gagging outright at that.

Who could she hoist this on?!

Isabela? No, no, Bela was usually good for an alibi, but the chances of her agreeing to an arrangement like this were slim and none. Bela didn’t court, after all, she _conquered_ , and while Hawke had nothing but the utmost respect for that, she doubted Leandra would feel the same.

Fenris? Maybe?? His brooding could probably be mistaken for romantic longing if he stood in the right light and squinted just so. She could likely—but would _he_ agree to it? Probably not. Could she handle that kind of liability? No. No she could not. Not Fenris, then.

Merrill? No. She was an awful liar.

Aveline? Oh nonono, she was an even _worse_ liar.

Anders would probably be more than happy to go along with it, but sweet Andraste, the risk of getting ‘the apostate’ talk from Leandra was more than she could bear. Just the _thought_ of having to hear her start a conversation with ‘Well, your father and I…’ was enough to make her itch. Last resort, that one.

Sebas—Maker above, absolutely not. Her mother would _never_ believe any story that put her name and the word ‘chaste’ into the same sentence.

“It’s, uh…” Well, now or never. “Varric.”

There was a beat of silence between them. “Varric.”

“Mhm.”

“Tethras.”

“That’s the one.”

“The dwarf.”

Hawke pressed a hand daintily to her chest, her eyebrows arching in feigned shock. “You know, Mother, I _really_ don’t think I appreciate the tone with which you just said that.”

And then came the moment she’d been expecting from the get-go: the inspection. Leandra was nothing if not predictable, narrowing her eyes as she searched her daughter’s face for any sign of deceit. The joke was on her, though, per the usual. Few people in Kirkwall—shit, few people in _Thedas_ —were as masterful at lying as Hawke.

Thank the _Maker_ Varric was one of them.

***

Stepping out of the Lowtown streets and into the Hanged Man was always an experience in and of itself. Something about the smell of stale beer and desperation just…made it feel like coming home, somehow. And yes, that was a difficult set of ideas that she was sure she’d have to sit down and unpack one day, but today was not that day. Nonono, today she had a _goal_.

“Varric!” Hawke called warmly when she spotted him sitting at the usual table, watching as a veil of suspicion fell over his eyes. “Oh _there_ you are, my dearest friend!”

He took a deep breath, shoulders rising with the effort. “What did you do?”

“Do—why is it that whenever I try to be nice, everyone _assumes_ it’s because I’ve gone and done something?” Frowning, she dropped herself into the spot across from him, folding her arms atop the table with a petulant huff. “I’m not _always_ flitting about hither and yon, causing mayhem at every turn.”

“No,” Varric agreed, shutting the book he’d been writing in. His eyebrows were high when he turned to better face her. “Just _usually_.”

She watched him for a long moment but didn’t disagree. She couldn’t. It was a good point.

“Aha. So? Out with it.”

Hawke dropped her arms to her sides to let her fingers drum against the seat. “I haven’t _done_ anything! Is it a _crime_ to simply stop by my favorite tavern and visit my favorite dwarf? Who, by the bye, happens to be Kirkwall’s favorite and most _illustrious_ author?”

Oh, if there had been suspicion before, there was outright apprehension now. “Ah, so you’re here for an autograph, is that what I’m hearing?”

“I’m here for…” she clucked her tongue a few times, making a thoughtful little sound. “…a favor.”

Immediately the flat tones of his voice were replaced with something else, something closer to amusement. “Oh, _this_ should be good.” She was glad _he_ could find some kind of entertainment in her suffering. Friendship was a beautiful thing.

Hawke was quickly coming to realize this was going to become a whole event. Defeated, she groaned, leaning over her elbows conspiratorially. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Varric’s expression didn’t darken, per se, but for a moment, it was as if his forehead had gone transparent and she could see the thoughts buzzing around within: giant spiders, massive wyverns, _Hubert_. “That’s certainly the word around town.”

“ _Best_ friends?”

“Maker’s balls, Hawke, could you just—”

“And best friends don’t judge each other, right? They _help_ each other!”

“You need help hiding a body.”

“ _No_ , I do not need help _hiding a body!_ For your information, I’d like to think I’m fairly good at doing that on my own, thank you.”

“Throwing them into the sea doesn’t really count as _hiding_ …”

“Oh I’m sorry, is that what this is going to be? No one _found_ them, ergo, they were _hidden_.”

“Mhm. Sure, sure.”

She heaved a heavy sigh. “Mother has taken it upon herself to find me…” again she paused, unable to restrain herself from grimacing. “…a husband.”

The wariness disappeared in a puff, replaced by abject confusion. And maybe—just _maybe_ —a trace of pity. “…okay. So you _do_ need my help hiding a body.” There must’ve been something in her face at that, because instead of laughing, he held a hand up and waved his fingers to prompt her on.

“Uh, well, see, this is where it gets…sticky. Because as you can probably imagine, I am not particularly keen on this idea of hers…”

“I’d think not.”

“So in an attempt to get her to stop writing to every well-to-do family in the Free Marches, I may have…possibly…told her that I’m already involved with someone. Seriously. And romantically. In a serious, romantic manner.” She met his gaze with that same grimace and was distraught to find there was no understanding in his eyes.

Not yet.

“All right. So now you need me to find some poor sap to—”

“No.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You need me to help you convince one of the others—”

“No.”

Varric watched her for a long moment, then folded his hands on top of his book, mirroring her posture by leaning forward over the table. “Hawke. I’m going to need you to get to the point.”

She tried to pull the grimace into a smile. It didn’t feel convincing. Hell, it didn’t feel _natural_. “I _may_ have told her that the lucky sod in question was, uh…well… _you!_ ” There was no way the grin was working. No way.

He was silent. Then, “You did _what_ now?”

“So I sort of need you to do me the great honor of pretending to be in love with me…”  
  
“ _Hawke_.”

“It won’t be forever! Just until she drops the obsession!” She slapped her palms against the tabletop loudly enough to startle a nearby patron awake. “Varric, _please_ , you have no idea the _agony_ I’ve been through. I just need this _one thing_ until she finds something else to occupy her time…”

“Why didn’t you tell her it was the elf? Or even Blondie?!”

Rolling her eyes theatrically, Hawke stuck a finger out and wagged it in his face. “First of all— _first of all!_ —I couldn’t tell Mother I was with an apostate! Could you _imagine?!_ She’d think I was _taking after her!_ ” Just saying it made her shudder.

“Can’t have _that_ ,” he scoffed.

“Exactly!” Now, she’d caught the sarcasm in his tone, yes, but she had _also_ opted to ignore it. “And have you _met_ my mother, Varric? If I’d told her it was Fenris, she would’ve just kept trying anyway! He isn’t _noble_ enough for the great and storied Amell line, and all the _tattoos_ …”

“You have got to be—and I _am?!_ ” he asked, reeling back.

“You’re close _enough._ ”

“ _Maker_ , Hawke!”

*******

Once the…initial trepidation of the situation passed, it didn’t take too much to convince Leandra. She still seemed apprehensive, sure, but _anyone_ would be—as a unit, Hawke and Varric were something of a whirlwind, constantly shooting off barbed little jokes and _usually_ sporting bloodstains that weren’t their own. The worst, though, the absolute _worst_ , was that they were bullshitters of a professional degree, and when you put them in the same room together? It was hard _not_ to be swept up by their gravitational pull.

And thank Andraste’s perky tits for that, because it made their act that much easier.

Really, Hawke was surprised to realize how natural the whole thing had begun to feel, almost as though this was a song and dance they’d been doing for _years_ and not just a week or so. On more than one occasion she’d caught herself resting her head against Varric’s shoulder or inching in to sit closer than they normally would’ve…and there had been that time a couple days back where all the seats at their usual table had been full so she’d just plunked herself down on his lap instead of forcing anyone to move and sure, yes, okay, she’d been able to play it off as a joke, but _oh_ that had been a narrow save.

 _So_ narrow.

“Ooh, and so the hunter becomes the hunt _ed_ ,” Isabela tut-tutted, gathering up her winnings from the center of the table. “Hate to see that happen, truly, you do…”

“Yeah, yeah, keep running your mouth, Rivaini, see where it gets you.”

“Was that meant as a threat or a proposition?”

“A threat, probably, I’d think,” Merrill added helpfully, leaning over towards Isabela.

One could always judge a game of Wicked Grace by the players who stuck it out until the end; that night, the table was horrendously and markedly empty, only the four of them remaining, suggesting that it had, in fact, been a truly cutthroat affair. Three of the worst cheats in the Marches…and Merrill, who quite frankly, was just glad to have been included. To be fair, no one ever cheated _her_ specifically—they had _some_ measure of conscience, after all.

Their number shrank again as Varric folded, throwing his cards onto the table. “I know when I’m beat.”

“Since _when?_ ” Hawke snickered, gathering up everyone’s scattered hands and shuffling the deck.

“Ha ha. I don’t need to sit here and take this.” He got up from the table, muttering a halfhearted goodnight to them all before pausing, throwing a quick glance back towards her. “Dinner tomorrow, right?”

“Mhm. Don’t be late, you know how Mother gets.”

“Don’t I ever…”

Still chuckling, Hawke shuffled the cards, attempting a super slick riffle and managing little more than bending the Angel of Temerity. Of course. She tried to unfold its corner before either of them could see, but when she glanced up, found Isabela watching her very, _very_ carefully, her attention hawk-like (ha ha ha) in its intensity.

Uh oh.

“You saw that, huh?” Inwardly, she cursed herself for her subpar shuffling abilities.

Shrugging with a shoulder, Isabela quirked an eyebrow. “Well I certainly _heard_ it.”

“…heard…wait, what?” Oh thank the Maker, maybe she _hadn’t_ completely humiliated herself in front of them—

“So Varric’s coming to dinner? _I_ don’t seem to remember receiving an invitation…”

She brushed it off like nothing more than a gnat, dealing out the cards and going back to her drink happily enough. “Oh, _that_. It’s this ridiculous little arrangement we have…Mother has it in her head that I _need_ to be actively seeking out a suitor ‘for the good of the family line.’” With her free hand, she cut a pair of savage finger-quotes into the air. “So Varric and I are pretending we’re together until she finds something else to fret about.”

The wrinkle in Merrill’s forehead deepened for a moment…and then disappeared completely. “Oh!” Her voice took on its usual chipper chirp as she nodded. “That explains it! Well, I’m sure your mother is _very_ convinced.”

Hawke paused mid-swig, something about the comment snagging her like stripweed. “…we _are_ pretty good actors, I suppose…”

“You are! Not that you’re having to do much of it, I’d imagine.”

Her tankard clunked loudly when she set it down. “Merrill,” Hawke began, keeping her own voice light. “Why would you imagine that, exactly?”

Looking up from her cards, Merrill blinked once, twice, then quickly glanced to Isabela as though for confirmation. “Oh, I just meant that I’m sure it’s very easy for you to act like you’re in love with Varric.”

There was a smirk beginning to spread across Isabela’s face, barbed and bright as climbing ivy. She said nothing. She did, however, keep her eyes firmly on Hawke even as she slowly brought her drink to her lips.

“Merrill,” Hawke repeated, “…why. Would. You. Think. That?”

Again her gaze flicked to Isabela. “Because…you… _are?_ ” The last word slid upwards until it hung over the table—a cloud darkened the stale tavern air with uncertainty.

That’s when Isabela snorted into her tankard, a snickering wave of laughter quickly following.  
  
Merrill’s eyes widened as she looked between the two of them, the faintest hint of color creeping into her cheeks. “Oh no, I’ve missed something, haven’t I? I thought—”

“No, no Kitten, you’ve got the right of it.” Isabela leaned over to pat her arm reassuringly. “She is.”

Words occurred to Hawke. Words such as ‘what’ and ‘pardon me’ and ‘fuck off,’ but all she seemed able to get past the slab of stone her tongue had become was a slushy, “ _Buh?_ ”

For her part, Merrill appeared hugely relieved. “I thought so!”

“I am not in love with—” All at once Hawke remembered where she was. She hunched herself over the table and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper, fingers clutching the edge of the bench with white-knuckled strength. “I am _not_ in love with Varric!” she hissed, only for a wave of heat to rush into her face when Isabela began to laugh even _harder_. “I’m _not!_ ”

Isabela cooed at her as one might a baby nug, pooching her lower lip into a pout far too over the top to be genuine. “You keep telling yourself that. Maybe you’ll even start to believe it…”

“Hey!”

“It’s sweet, really, if you’re moved by that sort of thing…”

“I am!” Merrill beamed. She turned to Hawke once more, obviously enamored with the entire situation. “I think it’s _very_ sweet.”

“I’m not—”

Without setting her drink down, Isabela gestured vaguely around the tavern. “Two of Kirkwall’s finest shysters…luring the fine people of the city into their schemes…while also luring _each other_ into bed. Think of all the books _that_ would sell, hmm?” Her grin was _ravenous_.

Hawke stared. She just…stared. It wasn’t often that she found herself without words, rarer still that it would be _Merrill_ , of all people, who could so deftly strike her dumb, and yet. And _yet_. “I’m not,” she said for what felt like the umpteenth time, hating how childish, how petulant, the words sounded.

“You can deny it all you want, but that doesn’t make it true…” Isabela’s voice curled around itself in a singsong, her eyebrows waggled, and that was when Hawke found herself at her limit.

In one curt motion, she downed what was left of her drink. She slammed her tankard to the table at the same moment she found her footing, pushing herself up from the table to hastily retreat.

“Oh come _on_ , don’t be that way!” Isabela called after her, still tittering with laughter. “Come back and tell us all about your little game of house! I’d _love_ to know the finer details!” She made no effort to keep her voice down.

Hawke didn’t turn back. No. Oh no. She didn’t even consider it. All she could think about was getting home and lying down.

And maybe setting herself on fire.


End file.
